


Beauty is Beast-Prequel

by CarolareScarletus



Category: Harry Potter - J. K. Rowling
Genre: Multi
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2016-05-22
Updated: 2017-05-20
Packaged: 2018-06-10 02:42:34
Rating: Not Rated
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 2
Words: 6,753
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/6935617
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/CarolareScarletus/pseuds/CarolareScarletus
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>During one stormy night, a mistake had been made. A new mother risks the future of her child by sending away a woman in desperate need of help. Upon this revelation a curse is placed on her family, which comes into fruition after ten turned years. The only hope for the young man is true love. What beauty can love a hideous beast like he, and what troves does this beauty hide?</p>
            </blockquote>





	1. Chapter 1

**Author's Note:**

> I do not own Harry Potter, but I take the liberty of owning the plot.
> 
> As always, enjoy.

* * *

 

_.~._

_Beauty is Beast_

_Prologue_

_A Tale as old as Time._

_.~._

* * *

_.~._

_Fell into despair_

_Until the last petal fell_

_Mark by these words_

_Love that cannot prevail_

_Beauty is Beast_

_.~._

* * *

**Wiltshire, England**

**June 15** **th** **, 1729**

 

 

A storm had been raging on that fateful night. Rain pelted in diagonal strokes, lightening lit up the night sky, villagers plundered with the reckless hysteria of trepidation. The grass was soaked from the Angel's tears, and not one single inch of the earth, it seemed, did not receive the thunderous blow of the destructive touch of liquid electricity. The town's folk lied awake through the resounding battle of the skies, having found no comfort in sleeping at all. Hypnos was not kind that night. Through the storm, unbeknownst to all, a solidary figure had emerged. And, out of all the chaos, that one drifter remained calm.

She was an old woman with ancient skin and wrinkles of trial and error. Her hair was peppered grey with bone-white streaks; even her clothing was in remarkably bad condition. Teeth as yellow as a decaying daisy, and long finger nails that could scratch with one grazing touch. She was condemned to walk the earth beneath a tattered, old cloak with no real welcome. Yet, despite all the claim of forgetfulness, she carried on.

Whilst she pushed through the galling winds, a cold chill began to settle in the core of her bones. Her village had welcome the same forceful winds ages ago. It had been pillaged until nothing remained. Women were raped, children and young girls sold as trophies of a victory that would never last. Memories of the occasion still lingered fresh inside her mind. It had been a peaceful time until _they_ came, The Cursed Ones. She needed refuge, but none came. The woman was hideously disfigured, and it took a kind heart to provide shelter to a beastly deity like her. Yet, though convinced of the human race's inability to see past the ugly, she treaded on until her legs carried her to a Manor door. Towering over her like giant trees, the doors of the beautiful home accommodated more than she could ever hope. Light flickered beyond the windows, and for first time in years, she felt an incredible surge of hope and an inkling of rejuvenation.

This is where her guide has lead her and this is where she would stay.

Someone desperately needed her help, and if things went accordingly, she would be able to provide such a service. If only they would graciously open up their doors and allow her passage. Then, she could extend her gratitude one last time. An imminent end was near, and feared it soon would be her last breath.

Her hands clenched her breast, and she let out a resounding sigh.

Deep in the chasm of her mind and heart, she knew it was fruitless. To welcome the likes of her was an outrageous claim. The weather, as if being the bearer of bad news, advised against it, but she carried on with her plans. With a tentative hand, she wrapped her long, boney fingers around the door handle and gave it good three raps. Her presence was acknowledged instantaneously.

An old gentlemen answered the door. His white hair was combed back and he wore the attire of a butler. Pushing up his spectacles further up the bridge of his nose, he greeted her.

"Good evening," he bid her. "May I ask what a… _woman_ of your status is roaming about the dark streets of Wiltshire?"

She remained silent for a moment before speaking. "I came for sanctuary."

"You think that this estate can offer you such a thing?" asked the butler-man. "I think highly unlikely. This is a residential dwelling and the Lord and lady do not offer such a thing to strangers. You ought to try the church down the street. I am certain they would be able to offer the accommodations you ask for."

The old woman shook her head slowly, careful to keep her face hidden underneath her cloak. "I do not seek sanctuary from a church. If I wanted that, I would have gone there first, hmm?"

"Then," the man treaded with measured ease," what exactly do you want?"

"I want what we all seek."

Obviously, her choice of words was doing little to persuade the man to let her in. The moment chose itself. A young woman came bustling down the hall, her night gown caressing her floor as it licked her bare feet. She looked busy and anxious about something the woman could not place. For someone so young, she would have easily guessed that it had something to do with a newborn child. Stopping just several feet away, she regarded their guest with a mix of curiosity and discomfort. Distrust lit up like lightening within her azure eyes.

"Gaëtan, who is this woman?" she asked, her voice a soft whisper in the moonlit sky.

"M'lady," he spoke to her warningly. "What on earth are you doing out of your chambers. You ought to be nursing your son."

"He is asleep," she stated rather sharply. "I finished feeding him and noticed a terrible draft coming from the loft and had to make sure the wards were up. They are up, are they not?"

"Of course, M'lady."

She gave him a pleasant smile before turning back to the old woman. "Now, forgive my rudeness. We do not usually receive guests so late at night. May I ask what business do you have with us?"

"I came for sanctuary," the old woman murmured softly. "I hear that this refuge allows all who seek passage entrance. Am I not welcomed into your home?"

"Who are you?" she narrowed her eyes instantly, her voice sharp as a knife. "For such insolence so late at night! Why, I should report you to the authorities!"

"What good will come if you do that?" she giggled atrociously. The old woman stepped forward until her nose barely grazed the welcoming hall of her Lady's beloved home. She could feel the warmth radiating from within the large estate, feel the warmth and happiness of the arrival of her child. In the distance, he slept peacefully in his bassinet. A whirl of magic surrounded him. "Very interesting," she murmured to herself. "To ward up the Grand Hall and your child's crib. Why, it was as if you were warned beforehand of my arrival."

"What is interesting?" the Lady asked. "I demand you to leave my home this instant! You have caused nothing but trouble since you have arrived and- "

She was stumped into dead silence. For the old woman had removed the hood of her cloak and revealed what lied underneath.

The woman had been burned to the point of unrecognition; taunt, marbled skin stretched across her cranium, her eyes appeared to sink deep within the sockets, and there was no skin to produce any inkling of a smile or frown. Her cheeks had been hollowed out, her neck elongated with a collarbone that protruded severely underneath the strain of her own skin. There were several grotesque markings that decorated her once youthful skin; dark, ugly remnants of what she had lived through, and more. The Lady held her breath, astonished by the ugliness that the woman had been able to keep hidden. Disgusted, mortified, and fearful for her family, she took a step back but was immediately captured by the woman's grip. She could not move and remained helpless to her disgusting face.

"What, monstrous beast!" she hissed, trying desperately to remove herself from the woman's impenetrable grip. "Release me, you foul ogre! Release me and return to the pit from whence you came!"

"How dare you call me a beast when I have only asked you for sanctuary!" remarked the woman coldly. "A simple request! It says a lot about a character when you cannot even open up your home to the tragic and deserving of travelers. _You_ , my dear, are the beast, not I."

The woman flourished into a stunning example of grandeur and beauty. No longer was she the freak of nature as her alias was; she was now in her true form.

An enchantress with dark brown hair stood before her, a smile forming on her lips as her hand moved behind her and produced a small coin purse. Inside, the Lady feared what she possessed within the old, tattered thing. She kept up her guard.

"For your noncompliance to my request, I shall place a burden upon your family." she murmured these words before reaching a hand into her purse and producing a small amount of shimmering powder. With a wicked grin, she met the Lady's eye and whispered," In ten years' time a tragedy will strike this home. The, you will know the true meaning of Beast. Heed this warning, however. There is a way to take away what has been given. It is up to you to figure it out."

With that, she blew on powder and watched gleefully as the Lady fell into a deep, forgetful slumber. In her hand, was a bud on the whispers of budding.

Upon the exchange of the curse that has plagued her, the old woman fell onto the door step, presumed dead by the given blossom.

 


	2. Chapter One

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I do not own Harry Potter, nor Beauty and the Beast.  
> This is simply for entertainment.
> 
> As always, enjoy
> 
> -CS

* * *

 

 

_.~._

_Beauty is Beast_

_Chapter One_

_.~._

* * *

 

~*.*~

_Henceforth came the marching of the call forbidden by all_

_But, no one could have improvised what had been saw._

_Ten comings fell into despair,_

_And so begins the troubled story of the rightful heir._

~*.*~

* * *

 

**London, England**

**Wednesday June 27, 1742**

The little girl with an abundance of hair peeked from her hiding spot and giggled. Voices blossomed around her, but none of the owners had been able to find her. It should have been a perfect hiding spot, and it was. But, for the little girl, it was an escape. No one besides her knew of its existence and she was very much inclined to keep it that way.

The Orphanage where she lived was not usually so lively and it took a lot of getting used to. People bustled about, noises resounded heavily around the growing mass, and even the adults were keen with worry and anxiety. The little girl, however, was quiet and kept much to herself whilst they hurried around and prepared the three story housing for the impending celebration that happened several times a year. What should be one of the happiest days of her life was filled with dread; she didn’t like these particular days only because she knew how the day would end. No one wanted to freak with an ability that had no explanation. All the other children made sure to make her life absolutely awful because of what and who she was. Besides, it was instilled into her mind. Who would seriously want a bushy-haired with bucked teeth girl like her? With a sigh, she pushed herself off the wall and scurried away.

Hermione was at a loss. While everyone prepared for the afternoon guests, she was left to dwell on her thoughts. Young children ran around her, chasing one another until their legs grew tired and they had to rest. As beautiful as the occasion was, she still felt sad about the entire affair.

With another sigh, the young girl decided to practice the waltz she had been given lessons for so many months prior to this day.

Dancing was safe, and it was easy. No matter what the cause, she was able to clear her mind and rest herself in the simplicity of the passion that came forth from dancing. She loved it, and it seemed like it was the only thing that loved her back. Although, secretly, there was something else she was curious about but was forbidden to even to whisper the abstract idea of it.

_Magic._

Hermione felt the sin rise from the words, but dispersed it away with a wave of her hand. It was not like she said it, anyway. Not that she was afraid to, of course. She was only obeying her Mistress’ rules. She did not want to have another incident on her hands. Besides, the more she found herself not thinking about it, the better it was for her. Incidents happen less frequently, and she has been able to fit in a bit more. It was her Mistress who made a big deal of it, giving the other children rein to pick on her because of her harsh comments.

“Oh, Hermione, dear,” sighed one of the serving women tending the kitchen. “Do you mind helping me with this little nuisance?” She held up a small vase and indicated to the handful of Lilies she picked.

Hermione nodded cheerfully. Her serving woman smiled fondly at her as one of her friends came to pass.

“Have I not told you how darling you are?” she pinched her cheeks and handed her a small fortune of cookies and treats. “For your troubles, dear. The other orphans didn’t want to help us.”

“It was no problem at all, Ms. Mavius.”

Just as Hermione unwrapped her treat bag, two pairs of feet came rushing into the kitchen.

“Darren, gimmie back my dolly!” one of the youngest members of the Orphanage yelled.

Darren was incredibly mischievous, and if it was not for Hermione’s high tolerance for him, she would have… _hexed_ him into oblivion just to teach the little bugger a lesson. Granted, she was a very gentle soul. Even her Mistress thought so. It is just sometimes he got on her last nerves long after he pressed her final button.

“Darren,” the eleven-year old sighed. “Please give Elizabeth her dolly.”

“Make me, freak!” he stuck out his tongue and proceeded to run away from them, nearly knocking Ms. Mavius down along with her friend.

“Why, I never!” she said, astonished as he swept past them.

With a roll of her eyes, she set forth to chase the little demon around the building while the adults continued decorating without the slightest bit of concern.

As long as they did not disturb the expensive vases, or destroyed the Lilies that floated within the glittering glass they did not care.

Madame Maxime stood out considerably from the crowd, and it was not for the absurdly dark purple flower in her hat or the ridiculous amount of white powder on her face. No, it was her height. Madame was incredibly tall, and considerably so. As she proceeded down the street toward the Orphanage, she felt the stares increase. If only she had thought to place on a glamour; she knew very well that the London audience did not welcome her kind.

Very well, then. She would go hide her true form just to keep the bloody pests from leering at her when she clearly done nothing wrong. Anything at this point to get the Londoners off her back and away from her personal space.

With several quick strides, she found an abandoned alleyway, took out her wand, and proceeded to place a glamour over her body. Perhaps it would be better if she presented herself as the Muggles that surrounded her. Everything but her height remained the same. Her hair, dark as a raven’s coat, shortened and her physique became more appropriate for a woman of her stature. As confined as she felt, she felt blessed in regards of knowing that she fit in, even momentarily. That way, she would not scare away the woman that she was about to meet, or the little girl that she hoped to obtain.

True abilities lied within the little girl and she prayed to Merlin that she would be able to convince her caretaker to give her custody of the child. She would come back, but she would be hers throughout her academic career. If she chose to come back during the holidays, she could. If not, she felt livid that she could keep her even then.

With a pleasant smile fully acquainting her lips, she stepped from the alleyway in the persona of her choosing. She now did not tower over the individuals she passed; they towered over her.

* * *

 

Madame Maxime straightened her posture and before she knew it she arrived at the orphanage. If looks could be deceiving, she would have guessed it was an absolutely awful place to raise children until a good family could provide the comfort and love they so desperately needed and craved. A part of her wanted to turn around and never come back but it was under the strict orders of a very dear friend of hers that she remained where she stood. People passed, and so did her thoughts. Was this truly the place that he had told her where the young girl would be? Granted, there were not many Magical Orphanages in the surrounding area and it is the only thing she has ever come to know, but surely there would have been other places to put her?

_There is not a single place that was not put into consideration_ , her friend’s words echoed.

_Perhaps, you are mistaken?_ She told him, urgently.

_She has no other relatives and it was the only place that would take her._

As sad a commitment was that, she had to accept it. Her friend was very stern with her, but that did not deter her in the slightest. She came to the filthy streets of London, away from the glorious landscape of Paris, just to find and meet her. And, that is exactly what she was going to do.

Pulling away from the recess of her mind, she stole away and took flight to the decently decrepit door of the Orphanage. With three knocks to the old, wooden knocker, she waited patiently for someone to come and greet her. It did not take long, either.

A preciously young girl no older than the age of three greeted her. With frightful horror painted on her face, she turned and stumbled away and a few seconds later came back with her Mistress trailing closely behind her.

“Oh, Jane! What is it that you wanted to show me, dear?”

She did not speak for the words of pleasantry were taken from her. Instead, she pointed to Madame Maxime as she waited silently to be acknowledged. For one thing, Parisians knew how to greet their guests. Absolutely no respect was shown to her since she arrived and she was beginning to think that these people were going to be rude for her all evening. That was until the Mistress of the Orphanage spoke.

“Ah, Madame Maxime I presume?”

“ _Oui_ ,” she muttered softly. Judging by the way she gracefully curtsied stood to reason that she at least had the decency to teach her girls and boys manners. “You must be Ms. Cole.” She lowered herself in the traditional respect of a Parisian woman. Once she found elevation once again, the woman before allowed a smile to grace her features, though it looked almost painful and was unbearable to watch. She stepped aside to allow her entrance into the building, a careful eye lowered to the petite woman as she floated inside.

“As you may tell, we do not receive many guests. Especially during the first week of the month.”

“Then, what is cause for all the commotion?”

“Adoptions,” the single word sent unpleasant vibes to course down her spine. Something about adults paying money to obtain a child did not settle right with her. Though, it was a great way to see the true hearts of the Londoners, Madame Maxime was not wholeheartedly convinced. Times were stressful, and it was not safe for a child to be handed to the arms of monsters. “We have so many children and only a handful, if not a little more, come to see them. Fewer get adopted and we are in debt. You see, the building is going to be taken, that is we are going to be evicted if we do not come up with enough sum to pay off the small fortune that has been placed on the building. I am afraid for the children’s wellbeing if were are not able to come up with the finances to keep the Orphanage running. That is why we have been pushing adoptions just in case… just in case we cannot rescue our little haven.”

Ms. Cole escorted her through the main parlor and into the back room where tea and a small assortment of pastries were set up. As cozy as the accommodations were, Maxime could not help wonder what further troubles they had. What has befallen this lovely establishment, and what could a simple woman who ran a Boarding School for the extraordinarily gifted do to help? Two different worlds, and yet they could easily fall victim to the same problems.

Maxime was welcomed graciously into the sun room. While she took a seat on one of the few wooden chairs, she had time to reflect. Ms. Cole was too preoccupied to notice as she prepared a cup for Maxime and herself. She smiled and gestured to the small plate of sugar cubs and milk, offering anything that would ease the tension between them. Nothing helped because the topic of their conversation still remained grim, but the Mistress hoped that a nice cup of tea and cake would sooth the burn.

“I must remind you of my letter,” came Maxime’s voice from the rubble of the Mistress’ own conscious. “Remember what I am here to discuss with you? Surely, you have not forgotten?”

“How can I forget,” Ms. Cole questioned sternly. “She is the only one who has given me trouble, given me reason to fear- “

“Her abilities are not worth fearing,” the woman’s boarding poise caused the other to shrivel back into her chair. “It is what you do not understand that causes you to think and feel in that way. And, I would suggest you keep your rude remarks to yourself from now on. She is but a child and should not be treated like how your other children have been treating her. Like a monster, a freak. I can very well tell you that she already feels like an outcast because of her keenness for knowledge, but to top it off with her uniqueness goes beyond the physical explanation. She is suffering and will continue to suffer until you come to terms with what she is.”

“And, what is that?”

“A _witch_.”

Ms. Cole nearly succumbed to a brutal heart attack. Eyes widened to the size of saucers as her hands came to grip the front of her blouse.

“Wh-why I never!” she whispered harshly. “Utter such absurd nonsense. Never in my life have I heard such rubbage, such-“

“It is the truth,” Maxime’s eyes darkened. A trickle of flickering light swept over them; Ms. Cole’s eyes watched with completely astonishment as the glowing bit of light came to rest right on the rim of her flowered tea cup. Seconds passed, and right before her eyes the remaining half of her tea disappeared right before her eyes. Ms. Cole let out a strangle cry that was only muffled by the swirling smoke that came to circle around her head. “That is what you fear. What she could possibly bring, and if you agree to at least allow me to meet her, then there stands to reason that she may have a bright future before her waiting for her take. Not that she does not have one here, of course. She just cannot meet her full potential in an orphanage when the world is just blossoming right before her eyes. She is young, but we can teach her how to control it, Ms. Cole.”

The woman was still shaking from the strange experience with the unworldly extension of her guest’s ability. As the smoke dissipated, her body began to relax and she was able to regain control.  Her eyes shriveled about and eventually landed on Maxime.

“So, it is true, then?” she whispered. “We all assumed that she was just a little mischievous.”

“All children bear that insignificant trait,” she mused. “But, I cannot say it is entirely her fault. In fact, you should not blame her for any odd occurrences that have happened in her company. She is young, as I have said. She does not know how to control it. For all we know, she was provoked. Children do not have any limits to their taunting.”

“But, my children-“

“Your children, I am sure, just do not understand, Ms. Cole. You cannot expect them to, anyway.”

“Never did I imagine that all the strange occurrences were the result of a unique ability.”

Maxime smiled kindly. She could feel her muscles twitch underneath the skin of her cheeks. “Yes, well, children have ways of surprising us all.” She took a hearty sip of her tea and sighed in relaxation.

Ms. Cole pursed her lips.

“Hermione is a very interesting little girl, I must say. Why, she is the most well-mannered, intelligent, and compassionate little girl you will ever meet.”

“I am sure,” Maxime mused thoughtfully. “All children are precious.”

“Yes, but I believe there is more to her that your source has not included you in.”

“And, what might that be?”

The Mistress of the Orphanage hesitated before whispering,” Hermione’s parents. We found them.” She confessed. “Most of the orphans that live here have relatives all over Europe, but we simply could not find any for her. All her relatives are presumed dead.”

“And, of her parents?” she asked, hopeful.

“Dead.” She told her. “I have not had the heart to tell her the sad news of her parent’s death.”

Maxime leaned back in her chair and allowed the tears to come unprofessionally to her eyes. “ _C’est horrible_!”

“ _Oui, Je sais_.” Ms. Cole agreed uneasily. “Unmarked graves if you dare to care. Not far from town if I am not mistaken.”

“When do you plan on telling the poor child?”

“When she is of age.”

“When she turns sixteen?”

Ms. Cole nodded. “We believe it would be for the best. I do not think any good would come from telling her now, especially when you have made arrangements to allow her to attend your Boarding school.”

“Yes, Beauxbaton is quite anxious to receive her. It is a fairly small school and all my girls’ interests have surrounding the impending arrival of a new classmate.”

“It sounds like a lovely school, Madame.”

“ _C’est_ _magnifique_ _!_ ” she agreed with a divine smile. “All my girls are lovely in grace and in beauty. We simply cannot wait to have her attend.”

The Mistress of the Orphanage considered the appointment for a moment before a question arose. “What sort of things will she learn there?” An elegantly tailored eyebrow rose. “I do hope that this Boarding School of yours is more than a wishful escape. There as to be some coordination in your treatment of the girls.”

“What on earth do you mean?”

“Why, lessons, my dear woman! What of her lessons?”

“Oh,” she could not suppress the giggle that bubbled inside of her. Even Ms. Cole let out a rather rude expression of happiness and delight. “I assure you the lessons are just as you expected. We do condition our girls to be valuable models of perfection in history, mathematics, science and whatever foreign language they wish to learn.  Not a single one of them comes out and does not live up to the expectation of a young woman. However, there are lessons that deem worthy of another agenda. What I mean is, the lessons we provide strive to control and conceal their use of magic. As it is unladylike to show the skin of one’s ankles, it is unladylike to show the use of magic in unwanted company. It is extraordinary to say the least, but we women must learn to wield the gift we were given. Men expect that of us and you rarely come across a man that is willing to break away from the conformity of our era and certainly not our kind.”

“You dare tell me… that there are a great many of you among us?”

She nodded.

“I must say that is truly remarkable,” breathed Ms. Cole. “I have to say that I am pleased to hear that you go to such lengths to ensure your girl’s future stays intact.”

“Of course,” she smiled again. “Nothing less for my girls.” Then, she paused. “I must ask you, though.”

“What is your inquiry?”

“The girl.” She said. “When will I be able to meet her?”

Ms. Cole stared at her for a second before reaching to the tea pot and pouring them both a second helping of tea. “That is not up to me.”

“I only ask because term starts September first and I would behoove you to push whomever is in charge to allow me to speak to her.”

“You misunderstood me,” Ms. Cole sighed, placing the tea pot rather loudly back upon the clothed table. “It is not up to me, but Hermione. I cannot speak for her. As much as I love the idea of her going off and exploring the world for her own eyes, I cannot agree unless she is comfortable about the idea. She has no inkling as to what her uniqueness is. Hermione is a fragile girl, even more so after receiving the terrible news of her parents. I simply cannot provoke the words when I myself do not know what she is thinking.”

“Then, when can I speak to her?”

Ms. Cole looked up from her tea cup and said,” As soon as I can convince her that no harm can ever come to her.”

Hermione chased Darren for what seemed like eternity. As always, the rowdy eight-year-old was gifted in the art of escape and deception. It took every ounce of her own guidance to find the little boy, whom had resumed messing with Elizabeth’s doll by drawing on the face with pastel and rubbing dirt into its clothes. With a dreadful scream, he stopped his treatment and scrambled off deep into the house and was not seen since.

Elizabeth was in a deplorable mess. No matter how much she tried to calm her, she just would not listen. Princess had been one and only doll, the only reminder of a mother she never knew. It broke Hermione’s heart seeing her so distressed and vowed to her that she would do everything within her power to clean and restore it back to its former, beautiful glory. Elizabeth was truly beyond herself.

“You would do that?” she asked innocently as they settled themselves upon the open grass. A nice zephyr rocked them in a tuneless lullaby as she wiped away the remnants of the distressed caused by Darren. As sand was washed away by the ocean, so were her tears.

“Of course,” Hermione smiled, arranging her skirts so it did not blow dangerously in the wind. “I will tell Ms. Cole what Darren did as soon as I see her. After supper we can try to get rid of the dirt and grass for Princess’ skirts.”

“She won’t let us bathe her!”

“Well,” she smiled,” what she does not know will not come to harm her, yes?”

Elizabeth giggled, which brought Hermione to giggle behind her hand as well.

“We will get our payback, will we not?”

She nodded enthusiastically. “Yes!” she agreed loudly. “I say we go and find one of his toys and dunk it in mud. Maybe it will teach him a lesson.”

Hermione shook her head. As much as she would love to do that, Ms. Cole simply would not approve of the manner in which we took to act out their revenge. All they needed to do, she explained, was tell Ms. Cole what happened and the Master of the boys will give out whatever punishment he saw fit. She agreed and the topic turned gloomy.

“Do you think we will get adopted?” Elizabeth finally calmed down with her harsh suggestions and turned to a topic that Hermione simply did not wish to discuss.

She shrugged. “One must remain hopeful, I suppose.”

“Are you hopeful?”

Hermione looked at her, trying hard not to pave way to the hesitation that was surely playing in her eyes. “Never. I never gave up hope.”

“I do not want to get adopted,” Elizabeth confessed. “I want to stay here and play with everyone else. I do not want to say goodbye.”

A heart felt pain shot through her. Of course she did not wish that, either. None of the orphans were that senseless and heartless to just get up without at least bidding them farewell. Hermione had remained at the Orphanage the longest and she could not express just how many people she has had to let go over the years. Too many to count, she quipped as another painful wreckage disturbed her. Elizabeth, as she knew, was awaiting a letter from her distant relatives and was not one of the orphans in the market to be adopted. She was one of her only friends and if she left, Hermione did not know what she would do. Everyone else was just so mean and cruel to her. Without Elizabeth’s guidance, she would be lost.

“Maybe you can come with me,” she offered kindly. “My great Aunt lives just outside of London and she is really so sweet!”

“I do not think she would be able to find accommodations for someone like me,” she said warily, weak of her own observations about herself.

“What do you mean?”

“I mean,” she swallowed the lump in her throat and exhaled sharply,” that your Aunt, I do not believe, would take too well with my kind.”

Elizabeth, though the tender age of six was actually fairly smart and informally vigilant. Nothing got passed her. “You are afraid of being accepted?”

The young girl nodded, drawing her legs up to her chest and burrowing her face into her knees. She cried silently for a moment until she felt Elizabeth’s soft arms wrap around her shoulders.

“You must not think such thoughts, Hermione!”

“W-why should I not? Everyone else already thinks I am a freak!”

“You are no such thing!”

“Yes I am!” she pushed her off of her and stumbled to her feet. “And, I would advise you to not treat me like I am one of you.”

“One of what?”

“Ordinary,” she hissed. “Belligerently submissive. I am anything but what the other orphans say. I am… I am a monster.”

Elizabeth stared at her until an alarmingly serious breach shifted across her features. “You are no monster, Hermione. They are.”

Hermione shook her head, refusing to believe what the other girl was trying to persuade her to believe. In all her years, she never thought she could come to believe such rubbage, no matter how persuasive the argument.

“As much as I like to dwell on that thought, Eliza, I cannot.” Hermione let out a shaky breath. “Go to your Aunt’s. Go and be free. I will stay here and flourish in my own time.”

“I do not want to leave you here.” she begged, tears staining her own pristine skin. “I implore you to reconsider!”

The curly-haired girl reached out and brought her into a tight hug. Both remained silent. The lonesome hush was only accompanied by their tears and woes. After a long progression of sorrow, the girls pulled apart but remained distantly close.

“I cannot follow you on your path, Elizabeth. But, no matter what, we will remain close.”

“Promise me that we will! Promise me that neither of us will lose connection with one another.”

“I promise,” she said, kissing her friend’s cheek and smiling.

“I’m telling you she is a liar!” yelled Darren as Mr. Filch tightened his grip on his upper arm. With a sneer, he shook him slightly and growled obscenities under his breath.

“Aye, like I would believe that for one bloody moment!” he hissed harshly into his face. “I know you stole her dolly and buried it in the soil!”

“I did not!”

As Mr. Filch reprimanded Darren for what he did to Elizabeth’s dolly, the girl’s stood just beyond the threshold of the Dining Hall, giggling hysterically with their hands thrown to their mouths. Hermione did not particularly like getting the other orphans into trouble, but Darren certainly deserved it. Under no circumstance was it nice to take a girl’s doll and dirty it up was her one and true philosophy, among a great many of things.

“I will ask Ms. Cole what to do with you.” Sneered Mr. Filch. “In the meantime, go into your room and wait until she is ready to speak to you.”

With that Darren pushed the offending hand off his shoulder. Glaring at the caretaker, he stomped away, brushing threateningly against Hermione’s arm. He made sure he bumped into her with full throttle. She rubbed the injured arm and frowned.

“Mr. Filch!” Elizabeth jumped up and down. “Can I have my dolly back?”

“I thought you and your little friend were going to take care of it?” he asked, suspiciously.

“We are, sir. We just wanted to make sure that it was alright to do so.”

Mr. Filch looked at them, quirking an eyebrow before nodding several times and walking away. Elizabeth stared at the caretaker’s retreating back for several minutes before turning to Hermione.

It was during this time that they commenced helping the other orphans with the last minute preparations. As much as she hated it, Hermione had to comply with this decorum. Whilst they helped the serving women and men of the Orphanage, a retreating force came around and pulled both of their ponytails.

“ _Ow_!” yelped Elizabeth as Darren came around and glared at them.

“That’s what you get, you little brat!”

“I am not a brat!”

“Yes you are!” he urged.

"You do not have to be so mean, you bully!” cried Elizabeth.

Hermione held her stance as Darren turned and narrowed his eyes on her. “And, you,” he began, shifting his weight to his other side,” you are that girl they’re always whispering about.”

“Who?”

“Our Master and Mistress.” he spat. “Always whispering about you and praising you like you are worth of such appraisal.”

“Says who?”

“Says _me_ ,” he reached out and pulled at her hair once again. “You _insufferable_ know-it-all _freak_!”

Before he had the chance to pull at her hair again, a hand came down and slapped it away from her. “I dare say, I thought your boys were better behaved then this,” the petite, black-haired woman said as she returned the same loathing look as he presented her.

“I thought they were,” Ms. Cole came to pick away at the icy tension between Hermione and Darren. “Everything alright, Mr. Evans?”

He gulped audibly, backing away from the glowering face of his Mistress. “N-no ma’am.”

“Good,” she smiled. “Now, I do believe Mr. Filch suggested you go to your quarters, yes?”

“Yes, ma’am.”

“I would suggest you go on and do that.”

Darren immediately set towards the stairs, muttering obscenities under his breath as he escaped from Ms. Cole’s regression.

The woman who stooped eased the boy’s touch from pursuing further physical bodily harm placed a hand atop of her head and said,” _C’est bien, mon cher_.”

The second she uttered those words, a sense of warmth spread through her head and down her body. She gasped at the sudden sensation before it settled like a kind of sincere warm ache in the pit of her tummy. The woman smiled down upon her.

“ _Mieux_?” she whispered to her.

She nodded, “ _Qui_ ,” she breathed in utter wonderment. “ _Merci, Madame_.”

The woman smiled and said not to her but to her Mistress,” I trust that you know how to contact me, Ms. Cole?”

Hermione’s Mistress nodded. “Of course, Madame.”

She watched as the woman rose and was seen off by their Mistress. As soon as Ms. Cole closed the front doors behind their guest, the enchantment and Hermione was left to remember what Darren had said. Provoked by those horrible words, she ran as fast as she could, ignoring the calls of her Mistress and friend. All she wanted after that ordeal was to be left alone. Not even the knocking on her bedroom door or the call for breakfast brought her out of the discernably unhappy state.

 

 

 

 

 


End file.
